


The Masters: Unjust Must Be the Universe

by kongu2910



Series: The Masters [2]
Category: Kung Fu Panda (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Heavily inspired by Watchmen, So take that for what you will
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2019-10-21 13:17:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17643539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kongu2910/pseuds/kongu2910
Summary: The Dragon Warrior is remembered as many things; hero, protector, freedom fighter and friend. But for the Liuyumen Masters, there are plenty of sombre memories mixed in with the great...





	1. Dear Ms. Song

_Dear Ms. Song,_

_First, I would like to thank you for accepting this position so soon after your dismissal from the employ of Mr Gāng. I understand that the circumstances following his arrest must have been distressing for you, and it means a lot to me and my staff that you’ve accepted the position so readily._

_Second, I am heading out this morning for discrete reasons that I don’t wish my co-workers knowing about. I want you to come up with an excuse that gets me away from my desk from about 10 am to 11 am. The specifics are entirely up to you, but it should be credible and likely. Don’t worry. This is a one-time instruction. I’m not in the habit of making strange requests of my employees._

_Finally, you will have no doubt noticed by the time you finish setting up your desk that our filing system is, to put it lightly, a mess. When you have set yourself up, I want you to make a start on organising them. Legislation is sorted by year, and the documents for each year are sorted by date. Moreover, files are to be neatly stacked within the filing cabinets, side by side. If you can achieve that, then you have outperformed my last secretary._

_Thanks in advance._

_-Tai Lung, Liuyumen City Minister of Commerce and Business Practice_


	2. Tai Lung

A light grey shroud hung over the cemetery, a shroud that some would mistake at first glace for a mist or a light fog. The acrid scent that it carried, however, would rectify that misunderstanding quickly. It would fade soon, swept away by the wind, but for now it hung over the necropolis, the grey clouds giving it a more morose impression.

Few cared to travel when the smog was like this. Those that did went from buildings to cars, breathing in the air for as little as possible. Yet there were two creatures subjecting themselves to the pollutant, standing next to an empty, freshly-dug grave. One was an antelope in black robes, a large tome slung underneath his arm. The other was a snow leopard of large build wearing a dark blue suit with a matching blue tie. Both wore surgeon masks to block out the deadly air.

Tai Lung looked around, frowning underneath the mask. The monk – at least, he assumed the antelope was a monk – turned to him as he approached. “Ah. Here to pay respects?” He asked.

“…Yes.” Tai replied. “I thought the procession started at ten?”

The monk shook his head. “Eleven.”

“Ah. Explains that, then.” Tai checked his watch. Thirty minutes. “You’re a monk?”

“Indeed. The Zhen family wanted this man to be buried with Buddhist rites. I believe he was a practitioner himself.” The monk cocked his head. “What about you?”

Tai shook his head. “Not particularly.” He looked at the grave, thoughtful. It didn’t surprise him that the panda had been a Buddhist. He had seemed to be that kind of person.

“I take it you were a friend of his.” The monk said kindly.

Tai hesitated. “…Not exactly.”

He turned and left, not wanting to explain his thoughts to the monk. He’d just wait in his car until the funeral began. No need to expose himself to any more of these fumes than he had to.

He had gone to more effort than usual in his appearance today. He didn’t know _why_ he had gone to the effort, but he had. His suit was fairly neat today, barely a shabby element upon it. He’d have to remember to change that once he got back to the office.

He stepped into his car, a small white plastic box with wheels, and rested in the driver’s seat, taking off the mask and setting it aside. He waited. He frowned and leaned back. He folded his arms and looked around. He looked down at his watch.

Twenty-eight minutes.

“…what the hell am I doing?” He muttered to himself, casting his gaze idly out the window. His eyes swept over the few graves he could see from the car. Some were big, some were small. In an hour, the panda would be underneath one of them.

He had known the panda for such a small part of his life. A five- or three-minute battle, that was all that he had seen of him. Yet what the panda did, how the panda had defeated him, had changed his entire life. The injury was the most obvious factor; how could the infamous ‘Master Leopard’ be able to practice kung-fu when he couldn’t even clench his fist without experiencing excruciating pain? But it was deeper than that.

The first time Tai Lung had been sent to prison, after he had been immobilized by Oogway, he had spent it feeding his resentment, his anger. It had bubbled and boiled, and when Shifu’s servant had arrived at the prison, it had been his anger that allowed him to lash out, to attack, to break out. When the panda jailed him, however, he had sent him back with the knowledge that it had all been for naught. He had killed, maimed, and raged over a piece of overblown mythical _nonsense_.

It had been pointless, he had recognised in that second twelve-year sentence. All that anger, all that pride, it had poisoned him. It hadn’t been Oogway who had sent him to prison, but his belief in his own invincibility, his right to take anything that he pleased. He had blamed Shifu at first – and he still did, to some degree – but eventually, he had seen his own stupidity for what it was.

That, of course, brought the question to his mind – who did he credit for his change, his revelation? Po? Oogway? Or was it his own willpower, his desire to make amends that had got him to where he was now? He didn’t know the answers, he didn’t know whether he should even be here, and that made him all the more frustrated.

He reached up with his good arm and pulled down his visor, opening the mirror within and looking at himself. He had loved mirrors in his youth, back when his fists and his back worked properly, purely because they had satisfied the vanity Shifu had put into his head. He would look into them and flex to nobody but himself, like the fool he had been, all the while telling himself ‘Yes. _This_ is the body of the Dragon Warrior.’

Nowadays, he saw mirrors differently.

* * *

 

**1952**

The scroll was blank.

Tai Lung looked up and down the scroll, his exhilaration slowly dying and being replaced by shock and confusion. He held it up to the sun, angled it, but all it held was the reflection of the purple hood that covered his face. He turned it to the other side, hoping that the power of the Dragon Scroll would perhaps be on the other side, but it too, held nothing.

“It’s… blank?” He whispered, staring back at the reflective side.

He lowered the scroll, looking down upon the form of the so-called ‘Dragon Warrior’ before him. The panda was kneeling on the ground of the dirty village street, his hand to the steel plate covering his chest, and his monochrome costume in tatters. Tai had already ripped off the boy’s mask, revealing the black-and-white fur beneath. He had laughed at the panda before, so obviously a novice of kung-fu, so clearly beneath Tai’s level of skill, that his only plan had been to run through the village and keep the scroll out of Tai’s reach. It hadn’t been enough, of course. Tai was faster, stronger, smarter. The panda’s efforts had been valiant, but in the end, Tai had downed him. The blow to his chest must’ve cracked one of his ribs.

Tai swung his gaze back and forth between the panda and the scroll, rage curling his lips into a snarl. Throwing the scroll to the ground, he grabbed the panda by the collar, and hoisted him up to his feet. “ _What the hell is this?_ ” He demanded. “Where is the real Dragon Scroll?”

The panda chuckled. “Sorry, bud. This is it.”

Tai was at a loss. Throwing the panda back to the ground, he paced back, swung around, and roared, “ _This is it?_ The Dragon Scroll is just a piece of _paper?_ ”

“Hey, it’s alright.” The panda replied in a weak, but kindly tone. Getting back up on his feet, he added, “I didn’t get it the first time either.”

Tai stepped back, unable to understand. “What…?”

“There is no secret ingredient.” The panda explained, smiling at him. “It’s just you.”

Tai Lung looked down at the scroll, theories flying about in his head. This couldn’t be it. This _couldn’t_ be what he had spent his life training for. This _couldn’t_ be what he had spent _twelve years_ in prison for. It had to be a trick. It _had_ to be.

The red mist flooded his vision as he glared murderously at the panda. He was going to make this boy – this _novice!_ – tell him where the real scroll was. He was going to break every bone, rip off every limb, until the panda broke and told him the truth. This bastard was going to die, and Tai Lung would make sure he wouldn’t be able to do a single thing about it. With a snarl of rage, he raised his paw and thrust a Nerve Strike at him.

The strike hit the panda’s collarbone, glancing off of something hard. The panda recoiled, crying, “Ow! Uh, what…?”

Confusion and anger swirling in his head, Tai aimed and struck at a different area, the panda’s armpit, for the strike. Again, he hit something hard, and the strike failed.

“ _Oh!_ ” The panda’s eyes lit up with understanding. “Oh, you’re doing the Nerve Strike! Yeah!” He pointed in excitement at Tai Lung, smiling like a child. “Yeah, I heard that you used that on the Five, so I, uh… I did some research on it, where you need to hit for it to work, so I just got some steel plates and put them on the vital areas! My dad’s friend, he’s a blacksmith, so I just told him-”

Tai’s fist swung forward, hitting the panda across the jaw and sending him five feet back.

In rage, he leapt forward, intent on pummelling this panda into a black-and-white pulp. The panda was quick to his feet however, despite his size, and he raised both his arms to block the attack. With a roar, Tai Lung continued his assault, swinging, striking and kicking in every style, with every technique that he knew. Each of his blows found a target, but to his anger, the panda was barely even stunned by his attacks.

If Tai’s fury hadn’t been so great, if he hadn’t been so blinded with disbelief over the Dragon Scroll, he might have noticed that the panda wasn’t trying to dodge. Rather, he was blocking each blow, absorbing the damage of the strikes, and attacking whenever he saw an opening. But in his rage, he noticed only that the panda wasn’t going down, no matter what he hit him with. He started making mistakes, though he didn’t notice them, leaving himself open when he would normally recover quickly, and with each mistake the panda would catch him with a strike.

The first one was to his chest, stopping what would have been a punch.

The second one was to his side, temporarily robbing Tai of his breath.

The third one caught him across the jaw, stunning him.

Tai stumbled back, blinking in fury, before he roared in anger and swung his fist towards the panda’s face. It was a strike that no Master of kung-fu would use. It was a strike of a common man, a fist that swung with all of Tai Lung’s strength, a swing that could be seen and parried by even a novice of kung-fu.

And the panda was, unfortunately, a novice.

The panda caught Tai’s fist, ducking around under his outstretched arm and causing Tai to swing around with him. When Tai’s vision was focused again, he saw the panda clutching Tai’s index finger with two of his own, his pinkie outstretched.

“Skadoosh.” The panda said with a triumphant smile.

Tai recognised the hold as the panda’s lowered his pinkie.

Then he screamed as a searing golden light exploded from the panda’s hand and travelled down his arm. Horrible, burning pain shot through his hand and body as his vision became filled with a blinding, all-encompassing light…

* * *

 

Tai flinched as the mirror caught the glare of the sun. He pushed the visor up and leaned back in his seat. He was motionless, leaning back and looking through the windshield idly.

After a second, he snorted, remembering his past self. “Fool…” He muttered to himself.

He used to love mirrors. Now, he couldn’t stand to look at them. They reminded him too much of that fateful day, the day he lost to a novice. The day that the only thing he had ever worked toward in his life disintegrated before his eyes and replaced it with nothing. Besides, he already knew what he would see on the other side. Because on the other side of a mirror, any mirror, was not Master Leopard, the near-invincible master of kung-fu.

No, on the other side of the mirror was a pouchy, middle-aged snow leopard with an unsatisfying job and a stiff, useless arm.


	3. Zhen Yi

Yí had wanted to hold the funeral in the Jade Village. Po had lived there. He had trained alongside them in the Jade Palace, he had helped put up houses. Po was as much a part of that place as he a part of the Furious Five. But logic had won out over heart in the end. The papers were already seeing how strange it was that the Zhen family, a family headed by the man who had long ago revealed himself as Grandmaster Viper, had organised the burial of an ordinary, if well-liked, noodle chef. To go so far as to hold the funeral in the village where the Dragon Warrior had first arrived? That was practically inviting investigation.

The smog had mostly been blown away by the time her father dropped her off at the cemetery, revealing a light morning sky with approaching dark clouds. The gate led into a field with poorly-kept grass, dozens, if not hundreds, of tombstones dotting the yard. A bundle of blankets sat nearby, within which some poor, homeless soul slept. Yí considered asking the person to leave, but she stopped and chastised herself. Her discomfort was likely nothing compared to someone who didn’t even have a roof over their head.

Wukong was the first one to arrive, pulling up in a faded police car that looked like it had seen its fair share of drivers. She watched him step out sporting a blue suit, its formal presence somewhat ruined by the way Wukong walked on his hands. A smile crept onto her face.

“Yí.” He greeted her when he was close, smiling back at her.

In response, she dashed up and nuzzled him. He seemed taken aback before relaxing, embracing her.

“Heh…” He said. “Just to clarify, this is just a friendship nuzzle, yeah?”

Yí laughed at that, remembering that he used to ask her that all the time. “Yes, Wukong. This is just a friendship nuzzle.”

“Alright, cool.” He shook his head as they let go of each other. “I never know whether to hug you guys or to shake your hands. Neither of them seem quite appropriate.”

“Well, I don’t have hands. So I always prefer a hug.” Yí replied with a chuckle.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Wukong looked up at the graveyard gates. “So, this is the place?”

Yí let her smile slip, unsure of whether to keep it going or not. “Yeah… It, uh… seemed nicer in the brochure.”

Wukong shrugged. “They always do. Don’t worry about it. Besides, I don’t think Po would mind. You know him, only complained when it was about food or exercise.” He laughed.

It took Yí a second to recognise what he was doing. Softly, Yí asked him, “It’s okay to be sad, Wukong.”

The simian hesitated, then he shook his head. “I’ll be sad when the funeral starts. Until then, I’m gonna do what I usually do.” He turned back to her, a humourless grin on his face. “Pretend everything’s alright.”

Yí frowned uncertainly, then smiled as reassuringly as possible. This was just Wukong being Wukong, she remembered.

Various other people arrived after Wukong, most of them strangers to Yí. Wukong seemed to recognise a few as people who worked at or frequented the noodle shop Po had run. People of the community, people who had known him and loved him. Yí was sincerely touched by it, even though they weren’t here for the same reason she was here.

Wen was the next to arrive, descending from the sky and landing by the side of the road. He found them through the small crowd easily enough, following Wukong’s greeting. The simian extended out his hand in greeting, saying, “Wen. Been a long time.”

“Yeah…” Wen shook Wukong’s hand with one of his talons. “It has. It’s good to see you. Really.”

“Good to see you too.” Wukong replied as Yí approached to give Wen a nuzzle.

Wen reciprocated the nuzzle with an awkward hug, looking around. “I didn’t think there’d be many people here.” He said quietly.

“Us neither.” Yí replied as she pulled back. “But then, Po was always easy to like.”

“Yeah…” Wen replied. He looked around, discomfort written across his face. “Where’s Chao?”

“He hasn’t arrived yet.” Yí replied, noticing the discomfort and seeing it as grief. “He should be here soon, though. I told him the time of the funeral myself.”

Sure enough, the insectoid arrived within the next minute. A few people noticed him and looked at him strangely. People often did. Giant insects and arachnids were rare, and some people found them frightening. Chao didn’t seem to mind. Perhaps he was used to it.

He smiled and extended a foreleg as he approached them, although it was a tired and wary smile that betrayed some amount of reluctance. Yí’s smile flickered again.

“Chao.” Wukong was the first to shake his foreleg. “How’s the world of business been treating you?”

“Less well than I’d like.” Chao replied. “It’s good to see you guys again.”

“Good to see you too.” Wen told him, shaking his foreleg after. “It’s been way too long.”

“Yeah, well… we’ve all had a lot on our plates.” Chao turned to face her now. “Yí.”

Yí smiled and extended her tail to shake his forelimb. “It’s good to see you too, Chao. Really good.”

As she said this, she analysed the way he was acting. He was reluctant to speak and act, and his voice was… difficult to read. Chao had always been the best at hiding his emotions – except for Tigress, of course – but Yí was practiced at reading people. And she could see that Chao didn’t want to be here.

This realization sparked anger within her. Po had been his comrade, his partner, his _friend_. Why on Earth wouldn’t he want to be here? At Po’s _funeral?_ But she pushed these thoughts aside. She wasn’t here to fight with him, not with any of her friends. She was here to reconnect with them.

This was the first time since 1955 that they had all been together, she realised as she looked over her friends with a sad smile. For the first time in over twenty years, her friends were all together.

All save one, of course.

Yí’s smile faded as Wukong looked at his watch and told them that it five-to-eleven.

All save two.


	4. Jin Wukong

Wukong hadn’t been to many funerals. He had always preferred to remember the dead by their life, not their burial. The few that he had been to were traditional Chinese funerals, not Buddhist funerals. The people at those funerals had worn subdued black, blue or green clothes, and only the family members had worn white.

Not at a Buddhist funeral, it seemed. Most of the funeralgoers seemed to be wearing clothes that were primarily white, including Wen and Yí. Wukong had been asked to wear white, but he had not, unfortunately, had white clothes.

He wasn’t the only one, thankfully. There were some people who were wearing more traditional colours, and Chao had arrived wearing black. Still, there were enough people who weren’t that made it seem like Wukong had committed some sort of… what did the English call it? A fo-pah? Regardless, he couldn’t help but feel somewhat embarrassed.

The procession as a whole had waited for the hearse to arrive and for the coffin to be brought inside before entering the parlour. It was brought to the end of the room and placed next to an altar, in front of a dozen rows of seats. At the front sat a group of monks, still and silent even as the procession walked in.

“Are they going to do the chanting?” Wukong whispered to Yí. She shook her head.

“They would’ve finished the rites this morning.” She replied quietly. She was staring straight ahead, a deep sadness in her eyes. “Closed casket…”

“That’s… probably for the best.” Wukong replied, trying to be gentle. “His body, it wasn’t…”

“ _Don’t._ ” Yí shut her eyes, her voice pained. “I don’t want to know about that.”

Wukong nodded. Honestly, he didn’t want to remember what the body had looked like.

The other two were silent. Wen seemed just as upset as Yí was, while Chao just looked downcast. Wukong pitied him. He had left the Five long before the government had forced them to quit, probably hadn’t spoken to any of them for years. The last time Wukong had talked to Chao was back in ’64, and the same could probably be said for the others. He couldn’t imagine how awkward the guy must be feeling.

…No. Awkward was the wrong word. Wukong wasn’t sure the was a word that could describe what Chao was likely feeling right now.

As they took their seats in the middle row, Wukong scanned the room. He recognised a lot of faces, but no names. Several people who had been regulars to Po’s restaurant, a cook hand, a waiter… all mammals who had only known Zhang Yong, not Ping Po. It wasn’t even crossing their minds that the panda they were mourning had been the legendary Dragon Warrior, and that made it all the more tragic. Yí, Chao, Wen and himself – they were the only ones who knew. Perhaps they were the only ones who would ever know.

The cremation would be after this. Wukong wasn’t sure how long that would take, but after that would come the burial. He took a deep breath. He couldn’t say he was looking forward to watching his friend’s burial, but he owed it to him. He owed a lot of things to that funny, ridiculously brave panda, most of which he’d never be able to pay back now. He wondered if the others felt the same.

Yí was already quietly crying, and Wukong could see some tears forming at the edge of Wen’s eyes. Truth be told, he was feeling teary himself, as much as he tried to fight it. “We can’t even say who he was to us.” He heard Yí whisper. “We can’t even say _anything_.”

“But you’re still going to say something, aren’t you?” Chao replied.

“I’m the first one to make a speech. I have to be, I organised all this.” Yí replied. “I just… what do I say when I can’t say anything?”

“Whatever feels right to you.” Chao replied. He seemed to be the least distraught out of all of them, but Wukong could still see the sadness in the old mantis’ eyes. Even if he hadn’t been as close to Po as the rest of them, he was still making the effort to be sad. Wukong respected that.

Wukong didn’t know who else would be making the speeches, but he assumed it would be the staff who worked under Po. After all, Po hadn’t had any family. There was no-one else to do it. He briefly wondered if the monks would also speak to the mourners, and he found himself hoping that they wouldn’t. He already knew what they would say. They would talk about the sadness of the death, but how it was alright because his ‘spirit would be reborn’ or whatever it was. Wukong didn’t want to think about that, he didn’t want to listen about his death.

After all, he preferred to remember the dead by how they lived.

* * *

 

**1952**

Wukong watched with wry amusement as Po emerged over the lip of the roof, panting and gasping for air. “You doing alright over there?” He asked, grinning to himself.

Po nodded, holding up his paw to show he was fine. “Just… catching my breath.” He gasped again and shook his head. “This thing is _tall_.”

Wukong chuckled at his friend’s somewhat small well of stamina. Two months in, and it was still difficult to believe that the kid had taken down Tai Lung. He was wearing his new costume, the one Shifu had made – the one with the lighter plating and the dragon mask, as opposed to Po’s old panda mask. After all, he wasn’t ‘Master Panda’ anymore – he was the Dragon Warrior.

He looked back toward the rest of the Five, who were also watching the scene with some amusement. Crane and Viper stood to one side, Mantis stood to the other, and Tigress stood at the other end of the rooftop. Wukong made his way back to them with Po, who was still panting with exhaustion. “So…” Po said tiredly. “Why are we… up here again? Is it just for the view?” He gestured towards the sun, setting in the distance. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. It’s pretty and all, but we could’ve seen it from the hotel room.”

He earned a chuckle from the others for that. Even Tigress, who Wukong had never heard anything but sternness and anger from, gave a brief laugh from beneath her mask. She shook her head and said, “No, Po. We’ve brought you up here to impress upon you the responsibilities of the Furious Five.”

“The… huh?”

“Don’t worry, she said the same stuff to me when I joined.” Wukong told him. “She makes it sound tougher than it is.”

“ _Monkey_ …” Viper sighed. Her red, lily-patterned costume didn’t cover her face, like Po’s, Mantis’ or Tigress’, so her exasperation was clearly visible beneath her facemask. She didn’t have to worry, though. Wukong had no intention of actually making his friend angry.

Wukong put his hands up. “I’m just saying that our boss has a habit of being a _little bit_ melodramatic at times. Don’t mean anything beside that.”

“I’m being serious.” Tigress shot back in her usual bluntness, a tinge of irritation in her voice now. “Po, come over here.”

Wukong watched Po walk nervously over to where Tigress was gesturing. He was still nervous around her, and Wukong didn’t blame him. Even at her friendliest, Tigress was an intimidating mammal to be around. The mask certainly didn’t help. Couldn’t even see her smile.

“What do you see?” Tigress asked when Po was at the edge.

“Uh… the city?” Po replied uncertainly. “It’s… a lot bigger than I thought it was, actually.” He sniffed the air. “Doesn’t smell as nice as I thought, either.”

“This is our responsibility.” Tigress told him. “This city, and its protection against crime and corruption, is our duty.”

“All of it?”

“All of it.”

“Geez…” Po stepped back. “That’s, uh… big.”

“Yes, it is.” Tigress replied matter-of-factly.

“I mean, I always knew that you guys protected everywhere in this district, but… I dunno…” Po took a deep breath. “How do we… y’know… protect it?”

“Simple. We target the men responsible for it.” Tigress pointed down at the city. “We target the men who profit from crime and chaos. Crime bosses, hitmen, murderers… the types of people who grow rich from the suffering of others.”

“Oh, like, uh… taking down the head, right? And then is that… it?”

Tigress looked up at Crane, who coughed awkwardly behind his cowl. “It’s, uh… not always that straightforward. I learnt that the hard way.” He straightened. “The way to do it is to weaken them over time, knocking down their operations one at a time. Once they can’t stand on their own two feet, we take them down.”

“Is that how you guys took down Qing?” Po asked. Crane nodded, and the Five stood a little prouder. Wukong remembered that guy well. Taking down his right-hand men one by one, leaving him on the steps of the police station with a pile of evidence… that was a good victory.

Po looked down at the city. “What about other guys? You know, like… purse-snatchers or crazy people?”

“It depends on the context.” Viper told him. “I mean, you wouldn’t beat up some poor, desperate mammal who doesn’t have any other way of getting by… but if they’re the type of mammal who enjoys hurting people… well, that’s another story.”

“Then there’s the people you can’t beat up.” Mantis spoke up. “Politicians, businessmen, those guys require a different approach.”

“With those people, we use evidence instead of our fists.” Tigress said. “We search for proof of any wrongdoing, send that proof to the right people, resorting to a physical fight only if we have to.”

“How come?” Po sounded confused. “I mean, what’s the difference between them and a crime boss?”

“The difference is that legally, they haven’t done anything wrong.” Wukong replied. “Sure, morally they’re no different than criminals and rogue Masters, but if we fought them like them, it’d cause more problems than fix them.”

“This war of ours is more difficult than it seems.” Tigress told Po. “It’s complicated to fight evil, and sometimes it’s not pretty. If you want to fight beside us Po, then you must be aware of this. You must be aware of what it takes to fight this war, not only in this city, not only in the village, but across the entirety of the Valley of Peace.” She stepped forward. “So I ask you Po, now that you know all of this… are you still ready to become a Master?”

Wukong smiled. He already knew Po’s answer. He reckoned all five of them did. Po looked at Tigress, took a deep breath, and said, with a voice coming from behind a confident smile, “Yeah. I’m ready.”

“Then let’s begin.” Tigress replied.


	5. 10:45 AM

_Journal of Master Tigress_  
1976-05-9   
_Year of the Dragon_

* * *

 

_ 10:45 AM _

_Arrived early. Funeral starts at 11 AM. I decided to adopt my alternate disguise today, lest anyone recognise me. I shall wait until the funeral has finished before I pay my respects. Mourning in public is too risky, and it’d be a disservice to Po to be captured before I find his killer._

_The air is bitter, like ash. The factories won’t cease their exuding even on a day of mourning. I saw a newspaper brush past me earlier, the front page saying how the leader of some foreign nation was denied entrance to China. The government fears anyone entering China, lest someone look too closely at what they do, how they treat their citizens. It won’t be long now. There’ll be war soon, perhaps from the inside, perhaps from the outside. And when it comes, then all the oppressors and all the tyrants shall know my name._

_ 11:05 AM _

_Funeral’s begun. Nobody’s recognised me, not even Yí. Good. Can’t risk getting spotted._

_I saw Tai Lung arrive earlier. Strange, that he would attend his enemy’s funeral. Perhaps he recognises it as the honourable thing to do. At least the past twelve years have taught him that much. Even so, I should investigate further later on, after the funeral. He might be here for other reasons._

_The fog has lifted now. I wonder what Po would think, his burial attended by strangers and his good deeds forgotten. Would he be angry? Accepting? Knowing him, he’d shrug it off as unimportant. He did his duty. He protected this city, this valley. That’s all he needed. That’s all he ever needed._

_I hear the weeping of civilians in the parlour, people who will never know of Po’s sacrifices to protect China. I keep my tears within, until my mission is complete and my friend is avenged._


End file.
